Classic Poem

Ye poets of the English tongue!
From Chaucer's ancient time
The ages on your lips have hung
And gloried in your rhyme.

Ye seers that bring in glowing verse
The thoughts of God to men,
And His deep mysteries rehearse
In words within our ken;

We feel your presence, own your power,
Your power our souls to move,
Our hearts with high resolves endower
To be — to do — to love!

No subtler charm the world contains
Than yours, which God employs
To soothe our sorrows, ease our pains,
And amplify our joys.

We thank Him for your noble line;
We glory in your toil;
We cull with lavish hand and twine
Your beauties in a coil.

Unquenched, undimmed, your fame shall flow
As roll the years along;
And, lengthening with the ages, grow
The chain of English Song.